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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27559459">This is Not Nothing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackandwhiteandrose/pseuds/blackandwhiteandrose'>blackandwhiteandrose</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion'>TrueIllusion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Anxious David Rose, Boys Kissing, Dammit Jocelyn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Married Life, Patrick Brewer loves David Rose, Post-Canon, Robes and Romance, Romantic Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:14:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,098</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27559459</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackandwhiteandrose/pseuds/blackandwhiteandrose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueIllusion/pseuds/TrueIllusion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it was just “one of those days,” Patrick had told himself. One of the days when David felt anxious for no reason and simply couldn’t manage to dispel the feelings of dread and restless uncertainty. But David would usually <i>tell</i> him that and not just try to shrug it off, which only added to Patrick’s own sense of unease.<br/>***<br/><i>David has an anxious night. Patrick helps him through it.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>251</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>This is Not Nothing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic is what happens when two anxious people both have a restless night and decide to write a story together to work through it, via our beloved David Rose.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had started earlier that afternoon, when Patrick got back to the store after completing the morning’s vendor runs to find a very distracted David, obviously off somewhere inside his head. He’d been dusting the shelves when Patrick came in and seemed startled when the bell rang, but that wasn’t really all that unusual, given how jumpy David could be at times. What had tipped Patrick off to how caught up David was inside his head was the way he didn’t seem to be <i>finishing</i> anything he started -- moving from one task to another with no real rhyme or reason, all while so lost in his thoughts that Patrick had to repeat anything he tried to say at least twice, sometimes three times, before he got even the vaguest response out of David. All of that would happen on occasion too, but it usually indicated that David had something important on his mind -- something he was trying to work through or figure out, that had his brain running off in a million different directions all at once.</p><p>Patrick had tried to draw it out of him as they closed up shop for the night -- Patrick counting money while David aimlessly pushed the dust mop around the floor -- but David merely shrugged and shook his head, pasting a smile on his face and insisting he was fine, and sending Patrick back to square one in the game of trying to figure out what was wrong with his husband.</p><p>Maybe it was just “one of those days,” Patrick had told himself. One of the days when David felt anxious for no reason and simply couldn’t manage to dispel the feelings of dread and restless uncertainty. But David would usually <i>tell</i> him that and not just try to shrug it off, which only added to Patrick’s own sense of unease.</p><p>It hadn’t gotten any better at dinner, despite the fact that Patrick had suggested they pick up a pizza and bring home a bottle of wine to share. Normally, David would have been at least a tiny bit excited about that -- particularly since David loved food more than any adult man Patrick had ever seen -- but again, he’d seemed distracted. He’d been oddly quiet as they ate, his leg sometimes bouncing restlessly as if his body needed <i>something</i> to do with the excess energy that was continuing to build inside him. And still, David continued to shrug and shake his head when Patrick asked him if everything was okay, leaving Patrick with nothing more to do than hold his breath and cross his fingers, hoping that whatever was simmering inside David wasn’t about to end in a panic attack.</p><p>Not that Patrick minded that, at least from his own point of view -- more that he hated it for David when that happened. He knew it was miserable, and it left David drained for hours, sometimes days, depending on how bad it was. So if it could be avoided, that was best. But that did require David giving Patrick at least a tiny shred of a clue as to what was going on, so they could talk about it.</p><p>Even though David wasn’t giving him anything to go on, Patrick still employed every trick he knew to try to ground David -- holding his hand as they sat together on the couch, using his thumb to trace tiny circles on the back of David’s hand as they watched a couple of episodes of <i>The Great Canadian Baking Show</i> on their DVR. Putting gentle-but-firm pressure on David’s thigh as he curled in closer to Patrick’s side. Laying a hand on David’s hip as they snuggled together in bed, David’s body still vibrating with some unknown energy as Patrick kissed him goodnight and whispered, “I love you,” before settling in to sleep, hoping that when they woke up in the morning, whatever was torturing David would have loosened its grip.</p><p>Patrick glanced at the clock again, both surprised and not that it was almost midnight. He’d been watching the time pass in tiny, slow-moving increments with every toss and turn of his husband’s body. Each heavy sigh from David’s side of the bed made Patrick wince with frustration at David’s insistence on keeping things to himself. He was almost ashamed of the relief he felt when David finally sat up and swung his legs off the mattress, pausing for a moment before getting up and quietly leaving their bedroom. He thought the muted exit attempt was a sweet gesture, as if he’d somehow been able to sleep with all of David’s anxious movements.</p><p>Despite the overwhelming urge that he always got to go immediately to David whenever he was in distress, he had learned over time that the best way to get David to talk was to let him go through his own steps of processing what was bothering him until he arrived at step “consult Patrick.” David always got there eventually, but sometimes it took far longer than Patrick liked, because all he wanted was to make things right for his husband. He knew David had gone downstairs, probably grabbed his journal and got something to drink -- maybe water, maybe wine -- and was likely sitting at the breakfast nook, sipping and thinking.</p><p>Patrick reached to turn on the lamp on his nightstand -- figuring he’d give David space for a while -- and picked up the book he’d been reading. Less than twenty pages later, he had re-read the same paragraph multiple times, missing new sentences each time as his eyes blinked slower and slower, threatening to just stay closed the next time. He set the book aside as he kicked off the duvet and got out of bed, immediately sliding his feet into a pair of well-worn fuzzy blue slippers David regularly tried to toss into the trash. He pulled on his own navy flannel robe and grabbed David’s fluffy white one from the hook on the back of their bedroom door, then began to softly descend the stairs.</p><p>Just as he suspected, he found David in the kitchen, his journal closed on the table in front of him, tapping his pen against the leather cover, his gaze fixed on something far off.</p><p>Patrick walked cautiously into the kitchen, trying to be both loud enough to alert David to his presence and quiet enough to not startle him. He made it all the way to the table before David turned to look at him, watching in silence as he lovingly wrapped David’s robe around his shoulders.</p><p>“Couldn’t sleep either?” David asked, shrugging his arms into the plush sleeves.</p><p>Patrick shook his head and went to open a cabinet to get glasses for both of them. “No, not really. You know I don’t sleep when you can’t.”</p><p>“Sorry,” David whispered as he took the glass of ice water Patrick had just prepared.</p><p>“You don’t need to apologize. I just wish you’d tell me what’s going on, so maybe we can fix it?” Patrick dropped into the chair next to David and leaned over to kiss his temple. </p><p>David’s eyes fluttered shut, as they always did when Patrick did something sweet that tugged at David’s heart. “It’s … nothing.”</p><p>Patrick could practically hear a whole soliloquy worth of words fighting to get out in that pause. “David, this is not nothing.”</p><p>David’s focus snapped back to Patrick at the familiar words. “That’s not fair.”</p><p>“Using romantic nostalgia to lure you into talking to me is one of the most effective tricks I have, David. You know I wield my powers responsibly,” Patrick joked, aware that a little levity went a long way in moments like this with David.</p><p>“If you say so.” David sighed, “I just… I can’t stop thinking about something that happened earlier.”</p><p>“Okay… what was it?” Patrick asked, placing his hand on David’s leg and giving him a squeeze just above his knee.</p><p>David took another sip from his glass, looking like he was trying to decide what he was about to say. “Jocelyn was in the store today, and she was talking about how she and Roland were going to their cabin for the weekend to celebrate their wedding anniversary, and she needed to stock up on massage oil…” He paused to shudder and look quickly at Patrick, listening patiently. “Anyway, I guess it’s their 30th anniversary, and while she was checking out she said, ‘Thirty years! That’s a long time to love somebody!’”</p><p>Patrick didn’t say anything, waiting for the next part of the story or details on whatever else happened that could have stuck with David and gotten him so off-kilter. When David didn’t offer any additional information, he prompted him, “And…?”</p><p>“It is… it’s a <i>long</i> time,” David said, his gaze moving downward toward his hands, fingers finding their way to each other as he started to fidget with his rings.</p><p>“Yes, it is. She probably deserves some sort of award. Certainly more than a weekend at a cabin with Roland and a bunch of massage oil.” Patrick’s face clearly conveyed how much he didn’t want to dwell on the particulars of that thought. He still didn't understand how any of this related to David’s fretfulness all evening. “Did she say something else, or what?”</p><p>“No. It just made me think.”</p><p>“About her and Roland?”</p><p>“Ew! Ohmygod! No!” David exclaimed, horrified, as Patrick tried his best to contain his laughter.</p><p>“You’re going to have to help me out here, David.”</p><p>“Thirty years is a long time to love somebody, Patrick. A lot could happen in 30 years. Or even ten years…” David’s voice dropped with nearly every word until it was difficult to hear him, his voice barely even a whisper by the time he was finished.</p><p><i>Oh.</i> Suddenly he got it. David still worried sometimes that there was going to be a point where Patrick was done -- no longer willing to wait out his anxious spells or tolerate the eccentricities that came standard with David Rose. Before he could open his mouth to respond, David was speaking again, expounding on his fears.</p><p>“Thirty years, Patrick. We’re so good now, but what if that doesn’t last? What if … what if the store goes under? What if someone cheats? What if something happens to one of us?! What if we have to move to somewhere like…like, <i>Reykjavik</i> and one of us isn’t happy there?” David’s hands were flailing as he listed the nightmare scenarios that had apparently been parading through his mind all day.</p><p>Rather than responding, Patrick stood up and held a hand out to David, pulling him out of his chair. Patrick slipped his arms around David’s waist -- the place he fit easily, automatically. “I’m not sure how we got to Iceland, but … all right. We’d make it work, David. I’d be happy anywhere you are. If something happens with the store, we’ll start over. We make a great team, and we’ll figure it out.  No one is cheating. Not me, not you. And if something happens to one of us, we’ll deal with that, too. We’ll get through it together. Because that’s what we do.”</p><p>David had draped himself over Patrick as he spoke, hands on his shoulders, leaning into the solid, reassuring strength of Patrick’s body. “It’s what we do <i>now</i>, but what…”</p><p>Patrick cut him off with a kiss, not willing to allow him to start another spiral. He felt David relax against him, the tension he’d been carrying starting to seep out of his body. “David, I plan on loving you forever and even that is still not going to be enough time for me to love you the way I want to.” He pressed a kiss to his favorite spot on David’s neck, hearing the shaky almost-sob that escaped. “You and me, we’re going to see this through ‘til the end. Whenever that is... whether we’re 85 or 105.”</p><p>“God, I love you,” David whispered, tilting his head, his mouth seeking Patrick’s again in a desperate sort of relief. He kissed him deeply, fully -- sinking into it as the gentle rocking that had started became the legitimate sway of a slow dance around the small space between the counter and the breakfast nook. </p><p>Patrick took David’s hand and threaded their fingers together, using his other to flick off the kitchen light. He led his husband back up to their bedroom, stopping just inside the door to kiss him again. “I can’t wait to have spent 30 years with you, David.”</p><p>David smiled against Patrick’s lips, leaning into his touch as he murmured, “Me either.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments and kudos make for happy and productive writers! 😉 Thanks for reading! ❤</p></blockquote></div></div>
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